


The Malfoy Manner

by Venivincere



Series: Draco Has No Control [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, No Scat, Watersports, implied father/son incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco learns a lesson in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Malfoy Manner

**Author's Note:**

> Draco, Draco/Lucius. NC-17 for theme, chan, and the sheer number of orgasms young Draco has. Draco's 10 or 11 -- it's the summer before his first year at Hogwarts. Written in celebration of reaching 1000 watchers on the LJ community Pornish_Pixies.
> 
> Posted on July 17, 2004 at Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=2696

In the middle of the library. In his pants, anywhere, and demanding a change of clothing and a warm, damp cloth be brought to him. On the furniture. In the fireplace. In the middle of the Slytherin-green silk coverlet on his bed. All over the marble in the bathroom. In a discarded shirt. In the velvet curtains of his mother's sitting room. On the leather couch. If no one's around, he usually takes his cock out of his pants to come. If he's with people, he makes an effort to keep it to himself. If anyone notices his flush, or his small, sharp intake of breath, they don't say anything. Boys always have other things on their mind.  
  
He sits on the pot and comes, and doesn't bother to wipe it off the floor. He just kicks off his soiled clothing and wipes his skin with a damp cloth. In the morning, he lays flat on his stomach half asleep, and rubs his hard little cock in the silk sheets. He comes, and as he drifts back to sleep he loses control of his very full bladder and wets and wets until he's laying in a warm, sticky puddle. He wakes in a bit, hard again, and only needs to thrust his hips once, twice, three times before he is coming again into the warm, damp mess. At breakfast, in his freshly-pressed trousers, with barely a touch, watching the bunch and pull of the muscles in his father's arm as he raises the fine china cup to his lips. On his balcony outside of his room in the evening, leaning against the banister rail and pressing his hard cock against the wide, cool stone. He comes, and feels the warmth fountain over the top of his cock and on his stomach, feels it soaking through his pants and trousers, and into the stone he's pressed against.  
  
In the hallway on the way to the lavatory, the urge strikes him, and he pulls it out of his pants and jerks over an ancient, waist-high Egyptian urn. He comes, and as his cock softens, he feels himself starting to piss, so he lets it all out, does it there, into the urn. On his broom on the Malfoy Quidditch pitch, high above the rings. He leans forward over the broom making pitch-sized figure eights, and only loses the pattern when the rhythmic press of his prick against the cushioning charms causes him to come hard and long in his trousers. He wonders about Quidditch at Hogwarts, if he will still be as aroused when surrounded by his team and his schoolmates, and if he is, and he comes, if it will soak through his uniform.  
  
The house-elves clean it all up, of course, and Draco likes knowing that he's making them do that. He takes to making messes everywhere in the house, and going back later to see if the house-elves have noticed it yet, and cleaned it up. He comes and pisses in the middle of the ballroom floor, the large puddle looking small in the middle of the vast room. It is gone within the hour. He stands behind a velvet-clad Queen Anne wingback chair in his father's sitting room, rubs his cock up against it, and swiftly makes a mess of it. Before the afternoon is out, there is no sign of his indiscretion. He comes, then pisses over the basin in the guest lavatory, in front of the mirror. He watches as first, the pearly white strands spurt quickly out of his cock, then moments later a pale, steady stream. He aims it everywhere, soaking the mirror and the fixtures, wetting the floor. He finishes in the basin, and shakes himself off, and surveys his creation. It makes him hard again. He pulls up his pants and trousers, presses against the wet edge of the sink, and comes again. The front of his pants is warm, wet and slick, and even though he is shaking and tired, he hardens yet again. He goes to his room and lays down on top of his bed, in the middle of the dark green coverlet. He thrusts his hips against the bed into the warm, damp mess in his pants, and comes again. Exhausted, he falls asleep.  
  
He wakes to his father standing over him.  
  
"Draco."  
  
Draco, hard again in his wet and sticky pants, does not turn over. "Yes, father?"  
  
" _Wingardium Leviosa_!" His father floats him in the air, wand in one hand, and flips Draco over to face him with the other.  
  
"Ah, the house-elves are correct, I see." He allows Draco to float down to the bed, his cheeks red with embarrassment and his stiff little cock making a very obvious tent in his stained, wet trousers.  
  
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Draco. I did the same, when I was your age."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"Certainly. You are coming to consciously recognize the kind of control that you exercise as the Malfoy heir."  
  
"It feels good."  
  
"I know. But now that you know, you have a choice to make."  
  
"What choice?"  
  
"Draco, you have some measure of control over this whole house, the things in it, and the servants who care for it, over everything that is Malfoy. You can do anything you want, and the consequences will be dealt with for you. You rule here -- nothing can stand in your way if you want to piss off the balcony into the foyer, or stand on a ladder and come on my portrait in the ballroom. Yet so far, Draco, you've exercised control over the least of all things Malfoy.  
  
"After me, you are the quintessential pinnacle of this House. You must make a choice where to exercise your power. Over the petty, little things only -- or over the most important assets as well. Do you see what I'm driving at, Draco?"  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
"Very well, then."  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
"Oh, but Draco -- "  
  
"Yes, father?"  
  
"An occasional reminder to the household never goes amiss."  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
"Care to join me for a reminder in the library, then?  
  
"Yes, father!"


End file.
